A Cage of Roots by Matt Griffin Page B

when I ended our time together. A lesson learned, young girl: never involve yourself with someone who knows magic.’
    ‘So there are more of you? Back home, I mean. In our time?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes, there are a few around, beings who we would call “Old Ones”. They are magic, and they were ancient even when we were young. I think they’ve been around forever, really. Not people you want to be mixing with – let me tell you. Although your friend Oscar has to deal with one of them on a daily basis, the poor fella. His principal, Fr Shanlon, is one of the oldest and most powerful around. Older than my brothers and I put together. His real name is Cathbad.’
    Benvy could only gape in shock. But from what shehad heard of the lanky priest, it made a certain amount of sense.
    Taig placed a log on the fire. It crackled in harmony with the river. The sounds of the place were all so musical: Taig’s voice, the water and the wind in the pines. It soothed her greatly.
    ‘As for tomorrow,’ he continued, ‘we have a fairly long walk ahead of us, I’m afraid. We’re in what you would now call Wicklow, in the east. We have to travel south, and fetch my javelin.’
    ‘So, what exactly am I meant to do with it when I get it? It’s hardly the time for a throwing contest.’
    ‘It’s not for sport, Benvy; it’s a weapon. One of my father’s weapons, to be exact. But I carried it for many years. And then I had to hide it, in the hope that I would never have to retrieve it.’
    ‘And why do I have to get it, then?’ she asked.
    ‘To prove yourself, young Benvy. Prove yourself or … well, pay the ultimate price, I’m sorry to say.’
    He turned and lay down and closed his eyes. Soon he was asleep. Benvy never spoke, just stared at his back with a mixture of fear and disbelief fixed on her face.

    Firecracker bursts of sheet lightning lit the land aroundthem in flashes of silver. Rain pelted down in the darkness between the bursts, while thunder peeled with threat, like great steel drums slammed by giants. Sean cowered behind Fergus, trying to avoid the worst of the cold wind, but there was no hiding from it. They were already soaked from the waterfall, and so the gale bit even harder. His glasses were coated with rain, so he took them off, pointless as it was to wipe them.
    ‘Something’s not right,’ the uncle said, his words stolen by the gust as soon as they left his lips. ‘Come on, lad. We need to find some shelter.’
    ‘Yes, please!’ Sean shouted, but his voice had no weight in the storm. He pulled his collar up around his neck and followed Fergus down from the spiral boulders and into the night. In the light of another bout of lightning, Fergus could see a copse of hazel ahead. He held Sean’s arm and they leaned against the tempest, pushing their way to the cover of the thicket.
    They forced their way under the tangle of branches, and at last found some respite in its centre. The gale was broken by the hazel and it covered them from the worst of the rain.
    ‘There’ll be no fire tonight I’m afraid, lad. Wrap up as best you can and try to sleep it out.’ Fergus pulled out a heavy blanket from his pack. ‘Here, throw this on you,’ he said, handing it to Sean. The boy took it gratefully.
    ‘What did you mean back there, when you said something’s not right?’
    ‘I mean this doesn’t feel right, lad. Where we’ve come out, I mean. I hope I’m wrong. We’ll know more in the morning. For now, try to sleep, if you can.’
    It didn’t come easily, but after a time Sean slept, albeit fitfully.
    When he woke, Sean was still sodden through. The ground beneath him had corralled rainwater into a thick brown puddle, and he had slept in it. He was freezing too. Fergus was gone, but his pack was still there.
    Sean was grateful for the spare clothes he had brought, and though they were damp they felt infinitely more comfortable. When he had changed and packed away his wet things, he emerged from the